Around eight, during a water break, I glanced out the window toward the street.
A sheriff's cruiser sat parked two blocks down.
My chest went tight.
From this distance, I couldn't see who was inside. But I knew. Somehow, I knew.
Gage.
"You okay?" Maya asked, following my gaze.
"Yeah. Fine." I turned back to the pole. "Let's run that carousel transition again."
But I couldn't focus. My attention kept drifting to that cruiser. Still there. Still watching.
By nine o'clock, when I walked my students to their cars like always, the cruiser hadn't moved.
"Great class," Riley said, hugging me goodbye. "See you Tuesday?"
"Yeah. Absolutely."
I waited until all three of them had driven away before getting into my Honda. Locked the doors. Started the engine.
The cruiser's headlights flicked on.
I pulled onto Highway 81, heading west toward my apartment. Checked the rearview mirror.
The cruiser followed.
Not close. Not aggressive. But there. Steady. Deliberate.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Was Gagefollowingme?
Fury and want collided in my chest—confusing and intense. Every turn I made, those headlights stayed behind me. Every stoplight, that cruiser pulled up three cars back.
By the time I reached my apartment complex, anger had won out over everything else.
I pulled into my parking space, threw the car in park, and climbed out. The cruiser pulled into the lot behind me, engine idling.
Oh hell no.
I stormed across the pavement toward the driver's side window. It rolled down before I reached it, and Gage looked up at me with those eyes that had been haunting my dreams.
"Are you following me?" The words came out sharper than I intended. "Spying on me?"
He cut the engine and opened the door, unfolding that tall frame from the cruiser. In full uniform—badge gleaming under the parking lot lights, duty belt riding low on his hips, Stetson casting shadows across his face.
"Need to talk to you." His voice was rough. Lower than usual.
"So youfollowedme home?" I planted my hands on my hips. "That's not talking, Gage. That's stalking."
"I know." He took off his hat, ran a hand through his dark hair. "And I'm sorry. But we need to talk, and you wouldn't have let me if I'd tried at the studio."
"How would you know? You didn't try!"
"Because I saw you Thursday night."
